


Haunting

by hollyhobbit101



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [6]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Ghost Possession, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Possession, basically tk sees ghosts and occasionally gets possessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: T.K. is five when he first sees a ghost, though, of course, he doesn’t know that it’s a ghost. His name is Joey, and he lives in the playground, which T.K. thought was a little strange, but he doesn’t want to ask. Dad says it’s rude to ask questions like that to someone he’s just met.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691701
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> i.......don't like this. it doesn't make any sense, there's no plot, and it's not what i wanted it to be but i'm posting it anyway because i don't want to re-write. enjoy???
> 
> Anon: demonic/ghostly possesion for TK (9-1-1 Lone Star) ft. crew and carlos

T.K. is five when he first sees a ghost, though, of course, he doesn’t know that it’s a ghost. His name is Joey, and he lives in the playground, which T.K. thought was a little strange, but he doesn’t want to ask. Dad says it’s rude to ask questions like that to someone he’s just met.

Joey is five as well, and T.K. immediately wants to play with him, only Joey doesn’t play very well. He can’t use one of his arms, and he’s got a funny red mark on the side of his head, which T.K. tries not to ask about either. He doesn’t mind, though, that Joey can’t play. They have fun anyway.

He tells Dad all about Joey on the way home, but he’s confused when he just ruffles T.K.’s hair and starts telling him about his own imaginary friend from when he was a kid.

“Joey’s real!” he protests, pouting at his dad.

Dad just smiles. “‘Course he is, bud,” he says.

* * *

When he’s eight, Joey is a regular feature in his parent’s arguments. There are plenty of arguments without him; things have been different since the towers. Still, T.K. will often be playing in his room and Joey’s name will be brought up.

“He shouldn’t have an imaginary friend at this age,” his mom insists.

“He’s a kid!” his dad counters, and T.K. imagines them pacing around the living room, waving their hands at each other.

“He’s eight, Owen.”

“Exactly, a kid.”

There’s a brief silence; T.K. pictures his mom raking her hands through her hair, trying not to yell for his sake.

“You coddle him too much,” she accuses eventually, much quieter now. “It needs to stop.”

The argument ends, or at least becomes too quiet for T.K. to hear. He nervously glances to his bed where Joey’s sitting, knees drawn up to his chest - clearly, he heard everything.

And T.K.’s not stupid; he knows something’s weird about Joey. He still looks five, for one thing. For another, though Joey informed him two months into their friendship that he could leave the playground, he said he could only do so with T.K.

Maybe Joey really is imaginary, and his mom is right - imaginary friends are for babies. But… It’s nice, having him around. T.K. isn’t very good at making friends, and he likes talking to Joey. Still.

T.K. closes his eyes and sighs, but when he opens them again, Joey is gone. He never comes back.

* * *

He figures it all out as he gets older, the ghosts appearing more and more often. It helps that they bear the injuries from however they died, though T.K. can’t quite get used to seeing people walking around with holes in their chest, or whatever.

He gets possessed for the first time when he’s sixteen. One minute he’s walking down the street, the next he’s floating, experiencing the odd sensation of being both separate from and trapped inside his body. It’s...liberating.

T.K. lets himself float, lets himself feel nothing. He can still see, if he chooses to, but he finds that it’s easier to let go. He likes it, this lack of control.

And when it’s over, when he’s slammed back into his body with such force that he nearly stumbles and falls, he finds he misses it. Everything in New York is too loud, too bright, _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch._

He wants it back. He wants-

He wants to be free.

(Later, when he’s in the midst of it, he’ll blame this ghost for the drugs)

(And even later, when he throws away years of progress for a single moment of peace, he’ll know that it was never the ghosts at all)

* * *

Firehouse 126, when they get there, is full of ghosts.

They disappear once the builders are brought in and everything they were clinging on to has been stripped away, but it takes T.K. a while to feel comfortable in there. He manages, though, and Austin is a lot better than New York. There are fewer ghosts here, and most of them are pretty friendly. As friendly as ghosts get, anyway.

And he’s doing well, eventually. Of course, there’s the small issue of getting shot _(the ghosts pull at him in his sleep, begging him to come to them, come, come -)_

But he doesn’t crave the empty so much anymore. He has his dad, and the team, and Carlos. Life is good.

They’re at the bar one night, celebrating the end of a shift, when T.K. steps outside for some air. Except… Fuck. There’s a ghost out here, and even from a distance, T.K. can tell that it’s not one of the friendly ones. He tries to sneak back inside to avoid catching it’s notice, but his foot knocks an empty bottle and the ghost’s head snaps towards him.

And T.K. can’t do anything but watch as it rushes him, rushes at him _oh god oh god fuckfuckfuckfu-_

T.K.’s floating.

It’s dark here, and quiet, and he’s tempted to fall into it, to let himself just drift away, like he always used to.

No.

He can’t. He doesn’t want to. If he lets himself go again, he knows that he might never come back, and that’s the most terrifying thing in the world to him right now. So he shakes himself - metaphorically speaking - and tries to focus, to zero in on something to keep him awake and aware until he can figure out a way to get out of this.

“T.K.? You okay?”

T.K.’s body is turned to the back door he came out of where - _fuck_ \- Carlos is standing. The ghost grins. It’s angry, T.K. can feel that now, and it’s a strange sensation, to feel emotions that aren’t yours. It’s enough, though; the fear of Carlos getting hurt making him fight back, fight against this _thing_ possessing him.

The ghost puts up a fight, bent on relieving it’s anger on Carlos. But T.K. fights harder, stronger, because goddammit he refuses to let anyone else get hurt around him. Especially not now. Especially not Carlos.

He fights and he fights until he can’t, until arms are wrapped around his body and his cheek is pressing into the tarmac and he can feel again, he can _feel_ -

“T.K.,” Carlos says. “T.K., T.K. T.K.” Over and over again like a prayer, and T.K. uses it, grounds himself in it, _lives_ in it.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs, though he’s exhausted, a tiredness he doesn’t really understand rendering his limbs dead.

“What happened?” Carlos asks, pulling away from him. “You just - _collapsed_.”

T.K. shakes his head; he knows Carlos wouldn’t believe him if he told him the truth. “I’m okay,” he repeats instead, clumsily pressing a kiss to Carlos’s knuckles.

“Everything’s okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> anyway i'm on tumblr @morganaspendragonss!


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